Progression
by Eleene
Summary: The story of Lotor's mother from slave to whore to wife. Loosely based on both the cartoon and the Devil's Due comics.
1. I Slave

**Slave**

The food lay in an undulating arc across the span of a low table, reaching far across the Great Hall. It was a table used only for warmasters and their merriment. It was a place to celebrate victory. There were platters, all silver and gold and all shining, piled high with food slaughtered earlier in the day. Decanters of wine were placed beside them. Then large goblets. The cushions were fluffed. The lights were low. The slaves were well-groomed, forcing smiles as they waited. They were very uncomfortable but trained not to show it. To feign pleasure and be caught in the act was an atrocity. It was punishable by Drule Law.

The king and his warmasters soon arrived.

There was much talk as men knelt to sit on cushions before the table, eying the food. They were starving. The final planetary sweep was long, much longer than necessary, and they hadn't eaten since early morning. They eyed the women as they filled their glasses and spoke in Drule on purpose, delighting in their sudden revulsion and fear. Anything Drule frightened the slaves; it's why all their planets were conquered. It was amusing that a language frightened humans more than a lazon sword. The guttural sharpness of a Drule tongue and the wandering eye of a warmaster had one women spilling wine from the decanter.

The warmaster shook his head, wiped a dirty hand down the front of his shirt and admonished her like a child with a wave of his finger. She was staring at his claws, but she was lucky. He was in good cheer. He spoke to her in Basic, "Lap it up, and I will let it slide."

The woman gasped. "I can't drink that," she said, betraying her fear. She never took her eyes from his hand, watching as he moved to scratch under his chin, then behind his ear.

Her luck was quickly thinning, and the warmaster looked to the Drule beside him. He gave a sarcastic laugh. "She says she can't drink it."

"Oh? Why not?" the second Drule asked, turning his eyes up to the slave. "Warmaster Karrok has given you an order. Even a slave knows what happens when a blind eye is turned to the will of a man with rank."

"It's... blood," the woman croaked even as she fell to her knees beside Karrok. "I can't... I can't do that." She leaned over the table and closed her eyes. There was a hand in her hair that gave her a final push and a then chorus of laughter.

A third warmaster gave Karrok a nudge and switched to Drule. "You can never make wine of her now. You know that, right? You can't taint a human with another human's blood. It's disgusting."

Karrok shrugged. "I doubt you would ever know the difference."

The king knelt on a large cushion at the head of the table, looking over the room with a smile. Yes. These were good men. Good men who today secured yet another prize for the Ninth Kingdom of the Drule Supremacy. To the victor went the spoils. The great Demon King took pride in that his realm was quickly earning the scorn of the more populated, established kingdoms of the Supremacy. King Zarkon's bounds were expanding at an exponential rate. They were a backwater planet no more. The Ninth Kingdom was a strong and deadly force with conquered worlds rich in resources. There was a seemingly endless supply of lazon, and every planet among the Drules wanted it as their own.

Zarkon leaned forward, elbows on the table and waited for a slave to fill his glass.

He liked this one, a tall blond with a lithe body wrapped in colorful silks and gold. She approached him slowly, holding out a large decanter of wine, but not with any trepidation. She teased him on purpose, and he didn't mind. She wasn't playing coy; he knew this slave despised him more than all the others, which was exactly the reason he kept her so close. He enjoyed her loathing, her perseverance, her iron-clad will.

He fantasized often about her. Today he just watched as she poured him wine.

The slave's eyes were on him as he took a drink, then licked his lips. Zarkon was satisfied—she hadn't even flinched—and rose with his glass held high. "Men, today was undoubtedly propitious, a day that truly favored Korrinoth over all others." There was a dramatic pause and the warmasters smiled at one another. They were still reveling in their victory.

King Zarkon continued, "After long months of arduous battle and unavoidable casualty, we have secured another planet for resources and slaves. And this one, men, this one little planet in the far corner of the Denubian Galaxy, is so rich in lazon it will have even the First Kingdom down on its knees just begging for a taste."

Zarkon knew how to play to his warmasters; he was a warmaster himself before he ever took the throne. Zarkon threw back his drink, and his men cheered. Korrinoth was a small planet in its own right, much smaller than any of the others in the Supremacy, but it was very resourceful and perhaps the most adept kingdom in the most valued areas of Drule commerce: slave trading and strip mining.

In fact, Korrinoth was so ruthless in conquest, people all over the Denubian Galaxy began calling it Planet Doom. Zarkon liked that very much.

"Tonight is a celebration to you," Zarkon said and the warmasters answered their king's generosity with another round of cheer. He grinned, looked to the slave at his side, then spoke his final words in Basic. "So please, whet your every appetite. Eat, drink and indulge in all I have provided. It's yours for the taking, men. You've most certainly earned it."

Holding out his empty glass, Zarkon watched the warmasters tear into the food. They ripped through large pieces of raw meat with wide, feral grins of satisfaction and entitlement. No human liked to watch a Drule eat. No silverware, just claws and fangs and lots and lots of wine. Even the most basic of needs was a huge sadistic play.

The slave beside Zarkon, however, filled his glass without so much as blinking.

She was a strange one, Zarkon thought as he watched the various reactions of the other slaves. One woman was wincing, looking away as she poured a newly-made warmaster another glass of wine. The warmaster was occupied with ripping apart the hindquarters of freshly slaughtered beast. His mouth was full of blood-red meat, glistening with threads of yellow fat when he reprimanded her for skimping on the wine.

Another, the same woman Warmaster Karrok scolded earlier, was hunched over the table fighting back tears as she fought to tear apart another warmaster's meal into smaller, more manageable pieces. Zarkon shook his head when the warmaster gave in, barked orders for the woman to stop making a mess and started doing the work himself. It would have been awhile before she even made even a bit of progress. Her nails were flimsy, brittle. They weren't made for ripping apart flesh like a Drule's.

Zarkon pulled the slave at his side close, and issued to her a command. "Fetch me something to eat," Zarkon said. The slave inclined her head, unsmiling but dutiful.

He watched her go, admiring from afar when she bent over the table. She knew how to tease, yet she never yielded completely. It was very attractive. Zarkon's mouth watered as her hands slid through the platters of meat without so much as flinching. It pleased him that she remembered cuts he liked best. He would never tell anyone, most of all his warmasters, but it were small things like that that made this one woman the king's favorite.

He wanted to move her from the harems, to keep her far from the others and all to himself, but knew it would cause court upset and confusion. The Demon King was wont to destruction in any form. A woman, especially one as attractive and willful as the slave he so favored, would only bring about his ruin. He knew this better than anyone else; it was ingrained in the mythos of his people. All great men were brought to ruin not by his harem, but by a single woman. A beautiful woman who bewildered and beguiled to steal his heart first, then his lands, and then finally, his people.

The thought terrified and amused him greatly. The Demon King of Korrinoth, one who rained doom upon countless planets, wrought stronger and crueler with an ever-present bloodlust, was afraid of a beautiful woman.

His men ate with relish while his favorite slave lingered beside them, striking conversation. He saw the surprise in their eyes when she spoke to them in their mother tongue. She was different all right. Very different. Everyone could see it.

"The little chit speaks Drule," Zarkon heard Warmaster Karrok say. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to hide his surprise. "So, what exactly did you hear, _lonknta_?"

Zarkon growled, but the slave offered the warmaster a flirtatious laugh. She was just compared to a beast known for being in heat nearly all year round. It was some of the meat his men were eating. Zarkon gnashed his teeth at the comparison, itching to rend the warmaster apart for the insult, but he chose to ignore the exchange. The slave said nothing about it. Either she didn't know what he had called her or she didn't care.

"I heard enough. You have a quite colorful vocabulary," said the slave. It was proper etiquette to acknowledge a warmaster's rank in conversation lest a slave suffer consequence. She was also speaking in familiar Drule, as if the warmaster were her equal. She was doing this on purpose. She would not acknowledge him. Instead, she ran a hand down the Karrok's back, then leaned closer to whisper something in his ear. Zarkon watched their exchange carefully, and she turned her eyes to watch him too. Karrok shook his head.

"You play with fire, human," the warmaster said. "You'd do right to offer submission. Leave, _lonknta_, so I can eat." He snapped his teeth at her, then pushed her away, casting a sideways glance at his king.

The slave got up, smiling down on Karrok. She was happy about something, and the light in her eyes her seemed to brighten. She returned to Zarkon with his meal. She was about to feed him a piece of meat, far too big to swallow, when Zarkon grabbed her wrist.

"What did he say to you?" Zarkon asked. "Do you know what he called you?"

His fingers tightened and blood ran down her arm, but she said nothing.

"Answer me, slave!" The room fell silent. His warmasters were looking at him and the women immediately fell into a posture of submission.

"It matters little what the blues say to us humans," she said. It wasn't the slur that bothered him. It was the fact she was bold enough to lock her eyes with his. A normal slave, a woman with any sense, would avert her eyes. Despite the blatant disobedience, Zarkon had to admit there was a strange kind of power in her, and it was a power that made him lose everything. It threw him into the darkest most dismal sea in Korrinoth to be consumed by his madness. It was arousing.

"It matters greatly," Zarkon said in Basic. He grabbed her by the hip and pulled her into his lap, playing claws down her thigh. "Answer my question or you will force me to make an example of you right here in front of everyone. The warmasters. The slaves. Your friends."

"I have no friends here," she hissed in Drule. She would not break her gaze from his, and he wondered if there was something special in his eyes as well. "You took away my friends the day you came to Arus. Worse still, that same day you took something even more precious than a couple friendships; you took from me my freedom. Demon King Zarkon, I want to be free."

He struck without thinking, ripping into her shoulder with his teeth, wrenching skin from bone and pulling it apart. Everyone screamed. Some of the slaves ran for the doors of the Great Hall while others cowered behind the warmasters, sobbing uncontrollably. A few men had enough of a heart to hold them close. One even hid a slave's face within the jacket of his sweat- and blood-soaked uniform.

Zarkon licked his red-stained lips. The slave in his lap was quiet save for her quickening breath.

"King Zarkon." Warmaster Karrok stood with a fist over his chest, his eyes looking not at Zarkon but past him. "I meant to you no disrespect, addressing the slave in such a way. I only called her that in jest. A joke. She is a slave after all."

Zarkon touched the slave's shoulder, picking at the torn flesh as he listened to his warmaster. Blood slicked his fingers, and he took another taste. "My wrath is not for you, Karrok, but for this whimpering slave." She wasn't whimpering, but his men needn't know that.

Karrok inclined his head. "I understand. But know I only told her to avert her eyes. To offer you submission, my king. Nothing more."

Bloodied and shivering, her shoulder weeping into his hand, the slave still stared at him. Not through him like Karrok, but at him, as if she were his equal.

Zarkon smiled. She was tough, willful. He liked the thought of breaking her, and that day would come soon enough.

"What is your name, slave?" Zarkon asked. He could hear his men whispering. Allowing a slave any personal property, even something as small as her name, was unheard of in any of the Kingdoms. It was a foolish thing to do. It gave slaves ideas and worse, it suggested they mattered in some way, no matter how small.

Zarkon told himself he didn't care. She was but one slave. What could she possibly do to ruin the great Demon King of Korrinoth? However, he again thought of his people, the history of men whose lands were razed and captured planets despoiled by those more fit, all because of a woman.

"No Drule, king or not, is worthy of hearing my name," the slave said with a smile.

Zarkon smiled back. She was losing too much blood to stay conscious. When her eyes began to roll back and her trembling stopped for the moment, Zarkon tried again. "What is your name, slave?"

She twisted a fist into his robes, desperate to keep her eyes fixed on his and answered.

"Adaline."

"Adaline," Zarkon echoed. She was slipping away. "That is your one freedom, Adaline. You get no more. Not now. Not ever." Why was he making an exception? The look of disbelief on the warmaster's faces was enough to make him reconsider. He was testing their loyalty, that's all. Yes, it was a test to see who would follow him into the depths of madness itself. Who would be there in the bowels of the underworld, still loyal to the great Demon King?

Zarkon pushed Adaline from his lap. She landed in a heap on the floor. "Tend to her wound."

Karrok stood when no one else would, lifted the slave into his arms and took her to the infirmary. He did it out of duty, not out of any fondness for her. Another warmaster opened the door for him. Karrok was a good example of devotion. He was loyal to a fault and it rubbed off on others. With his favorite slave gone, the warmasters went back to eating, sharing stories of battle. The slaves already erased the king's brutality from their minds and went back to work, filling every man's glass again and again.

Zarkon ripped into a chunk of meat, then spit it out. It wasn't the same, though, his men seemed to be enjoying it. Another slave spilled wine and was forced to lap it up. Everyone was in good cheer.

"Who will be with me in the underworld after I am brought to ruin?" Zarkon asked himself as he swallowed a swig of wine straight from a decanter. "Probably Adaline."

* * *

_Many thanks goes out to Michelle who gave Lotor's mother the name of Adaline. I'm glad you let me borrow it for this fic._


	2. II Whore

**Whore**

The day he moved Adaline from the harems, Zarkon's advisors were in an uproar. The king's decision, they said, deviated drastically from not just Drule tradition but strict Supremacy protocol. The nobles of Zarkon's court, and those of the other nine Kingdoms, would seethe with this knowledge.

"Why move a slave from her quarters if it were not to grant her some small freedom?" an advisor asked with a precursory bow of submission. "Why not just keep her in the harems?"

Another of his advisors stepped forward, "You cannot pity a slave, my King. We fear others may think you are softening if you were to move her. A show of weakness will jeopardize the position of Korrinoth in the Supremacy."

It was frowned upon to use slaves as courtesans of noblemen. It was because noble courtesans had freedoms slaves of which had no luxury. To take a human slave and personally appoint her as the single courtesan of the Great Demon King not only insulted a two-thousand-year-old caste system, but would be a spit in the face to the propriety of the other nine Kingdoms. His advisors were right; Zarkon's entire reputation, and that of his world, were at stake.

Zarkon considered his actions, his advisors' words, and the strong possibility of dire consequence. He ran the risk of exposing inferred weakness if he were to continue making exceptions for Adaline. There could be mutiny. Rebellion. The entire Ninth Kingdom could be swept into a maelstrom of unnecessary war and violence. He didn't want that, not with his people or the other Kingdoms. He would be greatly overpowered.

Later that night, under the cover of darkness, Zarkon's advisors had an met with two unfortunate accidents. A new advisor, a haggard-looking witch, was appointed the following day. No one in his court said a thing.

Still, Zarkon wondered if he allowed Adaline too much freedom.

The night of the celebration he said he would allow Adaline her name. That was all. But in the time that followed, Zarkon found himself indulging more and more when it came to Adaline.

First it was the move from the harems. He brushed that off as necessity. Then, when she protested a full two rotations about having to stay with him in his chambers, it was the lavish gift of her own personal quarters.

The freedom to walk a certain wing of the castle on her own soon followed when Adaline bemoaned her boredom. Sitting alone all day, locked in a gilded cage while Zarkon was away at court, was worse than working the slave pits, she said. He enjoyed her when she begged almost as much as he enjoyed the constant exaggeration of her situation, so he allowed Adaline access to the castle library.

It still wasn't enough.

He gave her dresses and jewels and secretly, a slave of her own to dress her in such a way that he felt like a young warmaster again.

"You're a beautiful creature," he said, fingering a string of diamonds in her hair. When the light hit them just right, she shone like fire.

"And you are one so hideous." Adaline never averted her eyes. Zarkon dropped his hands and leaned over her, pressing her against the floor.

When he called, Adaline was to appear and do exactly as she was told, otherwise there would be consequence to pay. She learned the very first night when she fought to stay out of bed. He had to bind her, pin her, cover her mouth with one hand as he finished. It was exquisite, and Zarkon hoped the following night she would deny him again. He was disappointed. She was at his door just as the light began to fade from the sky.

This night though, Adaline did not want to go out of her way to please him. She had arrived late, and although her hair was presentable and adorned with jewels, she was dressed in a modest slip. She also would not bow. Zarkon had greeted her with a smile and knocked her to the floor.

"Come now, Adaline." Zarkon chided as he dared to straddle her hips. He eased himself upon her, testing to see how much she could take. This was the only way she would _ever_ see the Great Demon King on his knees. "Surely you can do better. Your tongue has before lashed insults far more insufferable than that.

Adaline gasped, her eyes rolling back, "You're crushing me."

"What of it?" Zarkon asked even as he shifted his weight just a little. He felt the rise and fall of her chest once again. "You're a slave, my personal courtesan who happens to be a frail albeit beautiful human, so why should I even care?"

He watched her eyes carefully, then traced a claw over the swell of her bottom lip. Her breathing hitched and his followed suit when the tip of her tongue met his finger.

"You're so beautiful, Adaline," Zarkon said. She had his finger in her mouth, sucking it slowly, playing her tongue over his skin. His thumb caressed her cheek, her chin, gently pressing a claw into her skin. "I want give you everything."

Adaline offered him a small smile, dropping his finger from her lips. She nuzzled against his hand. "Is that so? The I want—"

Snarling, Zarkon rocked back on his knees and stood, grabbing Adaline by the hair. She was baiting him. Adaline was readying to ask him for the thing she's always asked since the night of the celebration: her freedom. "You think you can get every little thing? Let me remind you that you can't. Freedom is not anything I want to give, not while I am king. You are a slave. _My_ slave. Hands and knees," he said, watching with a smile of his own as she quickly obeyed. A fine tremor worked down her limbs. He wanted to feel the quiver in her body right up against him.

"This gets old rather quickly, don't you think?" Adaline said to the floor.

"Not to me," Zarkon said. He walked a circle around her, calculating his next move. Her hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders, revealing the long curve of her neck. Zarkon licked his lips in anticipation. "Never to me. It was your misfortune to have been swept away during a Drule campaign, and to have caught the eye of the Demon King."

"No," Adaline said. Her voice, although trembling, held an edge. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder. She had tears in her eyes; it caught him off guard. "It was your misfortune, _Zarkon_ to have fallen in love with me."

He moved quicker than he expected, his hand flying forward, wrenching the diamonds and Adaline's hair. She was against the wall, and he was pressing down on her, his hand jerking her chin upwards. He snarled in her face.

"First, you will address me as Master or as the Great Demon King. You are not my equal and I will not tolerate insolence from a slave, even you Adaline," Zarkon hissed. "Second, I am not in love with you. This is not love. It will never be love."

Adaline cocked her head, staring into his eyes. For a moment he wondered what she saw.

"Yes, you are."

The hand on her face moved, sliding down her neck, his claws grazing over her skin. He could slit her throat easily and put away all his doubt forever. Never again would he have to worry about his kingdom falling to ruin, nor would he lose sleep over worry that he would lose dominion over the planets he had conquered in the last century. He wouldn't have to fear jeopardizing the Ninth Kingdom's reputation for keeping Adaline as his exclusive courtesan.

"I am not in love with you," he said.

No more would he have to fear losing his sanity.

The hand on her throat moved to her shoulder, tracing the scar he had left with her some time after the last celebration. Zarkon wanted her alive. He wanted to keep her and take all those risks, but every single day she pushed him little by little to the brink.

"Yes," she said again, rising on her toes. The hand on her shoulder slipped. "You are."

She pressed her lips to his and Zarkon closed his eyes. He had a feeling Adaline had hers open.

"You want me," Adaline said as she trailed the heat of her kiss down his jaw. "You want me more than you had ever wanted any other woman."

"I do," Zarkon said, leaning close. His nostrils flared. She smelled sweet, like the powders she used after a soak in the bath, but even more than that he could smell her arousal. It was a sharp, acrid smell that drove him wild, though he wasn't sure he liked knowing Adaline got off on playing him the fool. She twisted a little, avoiding his kiss when he lifted her higher. "But wanting you and loving you are two different things entirely, my sweet, little whore."

"For most," Adaline said, rubbing her body against him. The silk was cool against his hands and soft. It wasn't much different than her skin. "However, with you Zarkon, I fear those two things are one and the same."

With a growl, Zarkon pushed a hand between her legs. She opened them wide, staring him down. She hadn't worn anything underneath. "You know nothing about how I truly feel. But you on the other hand, _whore_, I can read you like a book. You like this."

"I like knowing I can weaken the Drule Supremacy's hold on the universe, even if the only place I can start is the Ninth Kingdom," she chided, then hissed, pushing Zarkon back when he moved too close. "Your finger is plenty."

Zarkon laughed and leaned over Adaline. She still avoided his kiss. "It is hardly enough. You don't get off that easy tonight. Though on second thought, maybe you will. You never can hold back, no matter how much you say you loathe me and my affections."

"At least put me on the bed," Adaline said, baring her neck to him. "The wall isn't comfortable."

"This isn't about your comfort; it's about mine. However, I may reconsider if you will allow me to kiss you." He flexed his fingers, scraping them inside when Adaline made a small sound.

"Never," she said, but continued to ride his hand. "I save myself for another man's kiss."

"Another man," Zarkon mused as he stretched her open with another finger. She cried out and flattened herself against him, her eyes heavy with conviction. "You save yourself for another man's kiss yet you willingly taint your own lips to seduce me to the brink of insanity? That is hardly fair, Adaline, nor does it make any bit of sense."

Adaline arched back, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. "It's all political," she said with a shivering sigh. "It makes every bit of sense."

In her mind it probably did. Any hit a human could take on the Supremacy was welcome: inciting mutiny among conquered planets, random acts of violence, interstellar deception, and Adaline's favorite, basic, primal seduction. However, the Drule were a tough lot, tougher than humans. A race of small, pink and brown weaklings would never be the ones to bring down his Kingdom.

"I'll let you believe it only because I enjoy your kiss," Zarkon said with a smirk. He had his fingers deep inside her thrusting them in and out. Adaline moaned. She had them well lubricated. "Will you give me another, whore, or do I have to force myself upon you?"

"I think you rather like the idea of forcing yourself upon a woman," Adaline said, answering his smirk with one of her own. "Either way I lose."

Zarkon pulled her from the wall, wrenched his claws out of her, and threw her to the floor. He knelt beside her, pressing his lips to her ear. It was the closest thing she would allow to a kiss, so he lingered there, just breathing for a few moments before he said, "Take off your clothes, then go to the edge of the bed and bend over. Prove to me why I'm doing all this for you."

Allowing him a quick taste of her skin, Zarkon dragged his tongue over her throat. The small whimpering sounds she made heightened his lust. He took her hand in his, pulling it inside his robes. She obliged him with a throaty purr.

"Prove to me... Adaline..."

It was when she felt his lips glide down to the nape of her neck, Adaline pulled away, leaving Zarkon almost breathless from how much of a tease she was. Adaline stood in front of him, her back straight, looking every bit the haughty slave, and hooked her thumbs under the straps of her slip. "I have nothing to prove. You do this because you love me."

Zarkon watched her slip fall to the floor. "I _lust_ you."

She said nothing and instead sauntered to the edge of the bed, swaying her hips as she moved. Zarkon watched entranced. When she bent over the mattress, Adaline tossed a look of sheer arrogance over her shoulder. It amused him, and the one thing he really enjoyed was putting insolent slaves in their rightful place.

Standing over her, Zarkon liked the way Adaline struggled when he pushed her face into the mattress. He didn't want to look at her, not when she stood the chance at beguiling him with her charms. Instead he admired the ridges in her spine, and ran a finger down them, mesmerized with the way Adaline trembled under his touch. She was a frail thing, but so very brave.

"I hope you're wet enough, Adaline. I would hate to rip you apart again."

Zarkon would never tell anyone he took pity on a slave when he raped her because he didn't, not even when he was just a green warmaster enjoying the girls in his first harem. With Adaline though, it wasn't rape, no matter how much she screamed.

He and Adaline only made love.

"Demon King Zarkon," Adaline hissed through her teeth. It wasn't her fault she was made so small, but Zarkon rationalized she would get used to it eventually. She got wetter each night. "I swear on everything I once held dear, I will be your end!"

Thrusting into her as far as she could take him, Zarkon held her hips tight, making her ass move in just the way he liked while pressing her breasts into the mattress. She turned her head, sputtering on a breath, and glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes, looking as fierce as the day she came to Korrinoth barefoot and dressed in rags.

Bending over her, Zarkon stole his first kiss from Adaline. It was an awkward angle, but he fought to press his mouth against hers. Nipping her lower lip, Adaline cried out and his tongue dipped into her mouth for the first time ever. Before this, before Adaline, he had no interest in kissing any of his pleasure slaves. They were good for one thing and one thing only: fucking. Zarkon felt Adaline shudder in revulsion and pressed her face back into the mattress.

"I will be the death of you," Adaline said. "I will bring you to ruin, I will have revenge on you and your people, and I will enjoy it."

Zarkon raised her hips, a low growl starting in his in the base of his throat as he continued milking pleasure from her body. It was maddening how tight she was, and if Zarkon didn't know any better, she was doing it in purpose. "Try all you like, but you will never succeed."

Adaline screamed, her fingers digging into the sheets, "Zarkon, I will kill you!"

A death threat, but the strange thing was the threat provoked Zarkon further. It made him move faster, grip Adaline's hips tighter, and much to his dismay, finish much too soon.

He stood with his claws digging into Adaline's hips, blood dripping over his fingers as he filled her womb with a loud grunt. He kept moving, not wanting it to end, but knew eventually it would. Adaline sagged in relief, reaching between her legs. Zarkon hauled her up by the hair and flipped her over. Her pupils were dilated, but her eyes were narrowed. She was always filled with loathing.

Climbing over her, Zarkon pressed his lips to hers once more and said, "You are welcome to try sticking a blade in my back, my pretty, little whore but remember you won't be my end if you happen to meet yours first."

She was a spiteful, ungrateful woman whose temper flared with the slightest spark of confrontation, but he nevertheless fell for her. Perhaps she was right. And perhaps he had better watch his back in the future when they shared the same bed.

Adaline smiled at him, looking wonton and triumphant with her hair flared under her like a new, shining sun. "You lie," she said in Drule, "You would never do such a thing."

He would, and it was all the reason he needed to tell himself he did not love Adaline. Zarkon answered her smile with a wide grin of his own.

"Try me," he said.


End file.
